


Perchance to Dream

by toothbrushattack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothbrushattack/pseuds/toothbrushattack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories bathed in bursts of color danced beyond his reach, taunting him with knowledge only given to him in dreams. The hot tightening of frustration made him clench his teeth, bringing him awake in a snap when his tongue was an unfortunate causality of the movement.</p><p>To his left, a much too casual baritone drawled,“You speak Russian.”</p><p>Sherlock lay on the couch, phone resting between his hands, looking for all intents and purposes like a bored cat. He swallowed thickly, pushing back the throbbing pain in his tongue to answer. </p><p>“Murray’s wife was Russian. Met her once, taught me a few words, nice woman.” The lie left his mouth instinctively, and his heart started pounding for an entirely different reason.</p><p>God. If Sherlock didn't buy that, how was he going to explain the ability to speak different languages in his sleep?</p><p>Pale blue eyes opened to study him intently while he desperately tried to get a hold of his composure. The happy buzz of a phone shifted the genius’s attention and John practically melted against the chair in relief.</p><p>“New case.” John decided right then and there, Greg was going to get the most delicious, expensive coffee that he could get his hands on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soldier, Soldier

_Guardians_.

Blood, John realized, was the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen.

_Protectors._

Like the brilliant burst of dying color the sun pushed through the horizon as it finally sunk from sight.

_Peacekeepers._

His lip curled instinctively as the bitter, metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth. Soldiers screamed as they disappeared behind any cover they could find, bullets whizzing in the air, leaving behind the smell of chalk and the haze he’d always seen after the fireworks in London.

_Myth!_

It should never be seen like this.

_Fake!_

The familiar shudder, and choking gurgle halted his hands. The erratic flow halted and reduced to a sluggish trickle, indistinct against the wet earth.

_Buzz, buzz, buzz_

Good supplies shoved into his pack, he waited for a lull in the gunfight.

_Buzzzzzzzzzzz_

The mud sucked at his boots relentlessly, and with a pounding heart he dove into the shadowed trench and crashed into soft sand.

_I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat._

The medic hunched over the screaming soldier collapsed, and John choked back the bile in his throat. 

_Without victory, there is no survival…_

Breaking the seal on the syrette he pressed the dose of morphine into the soldiers arm, clipping the empty tube to his collar. Sulfur was thrown onto the wound, the white powder turning ruby red and the man, no, the boy whimpered. Gauze was pressed into the wound and with a sharp look around the cacophony of falling men, spraying sand, and desperate orders he disappeared as the world flipped.

_Down towards the ground…_

He wiped the sweat of his lip, shifting uncomfortably under the heavy weight of his pack chaffing his damp skin. Horror twisted his face as the ground shifted and shrill cries of agony filled the air. Bark ripped through the air and he collapsed with writhing waves of agony traveling up his leg. He sucked in a wheezing gasp as he was thrown over shoulders, vision fading in and out, familiar whirring beating the air.

_Gravity smiled…_

“Watson!” John gasped as he was pulled away from the soldier, pain finally registering in his mind. Murray was muttering under his breath layers of spells, sweat trickling down his furrowed brow.

_Heavy, so heavy, please let me drown…_

 “John! Damn it John! You, pass me the morphine!” Brown eyes blurred, and hot, gritty sand invaded his mouth. But that too, faded under the warm rush of the sweet drug. Damp, rose red fingers pried his drooping eyes open, muffled voices distorting in his head. Red…oh.

_Please god, let me live._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! So, first things first. If you were totally confused by the chapter then my job was done. It was meant to be the confusing transitioning of dreams. It'll make sense when I get to the real heavy, plotty part of the story later on. Now, continuing on, I haven’t written for years now, and currently I’m job hunting and won’t be back in school until October. This story is an exercise to get me back into writing, it won’t be overly complicated, but it will be at least fifteen chapters long. The chapters are going to be written in snippets, so I can pace myself and at the same time give you quality over quantity, I already have an outline planned out so this story won’t be abandoned for months at a time. Updates will be erratic, but they will happen, just be patient. And please, if you have any tips or critiques be sure to drop a comment!


	2. Weaver

The first thing he noticed was the incredibly foul, dry taste in his mouth. And god, he wanted water. Maybe some curry.

The soft click of a door opening intruded his sluggish thoughts, and with it the steady blip of a heart monitor.

A hospital he realized. He was in a hospital.

That’s right, he realized becoming more aware. He’d been shot. They were ambushed in Kabul.

Shoes tapped against the floor quietly, followed by the steady scratching of pen against paper. Focusing, John managed to open his eyes only to immediately close them in pain.

The scratching stopped and he blinked at the fuzzy blue shape at the foot of his bed.

“Oh!” The shape left quickly, presumably a nurse rushing to get a doctor. Slowly, the room started to focus, but it was still another five minutes before John could keep his eyes open long enough without wincing at the flood of light.

A woman with the greenest hair he’d ever seen opened the door. But what caught and held his attention was the nurse that trailed after. Able to focus now, the gold curves under her eyes stood out in stark contrast with her chestnut skin.

A weaver.

 John snapped his attention back to the doctor, feeling the tight coil of tension in his belly. Distracted by the shock of green hair, he’d completely missed the razor thin grey lines that traveled down her forehead and eyes before spiraling back to her ears.

That’s when he realized he couldn’t move. Panic began to creep up his throat; did the bullet hit his spine?

“Dr. Watson, please, we need you to calm down.” He started, blinking when he realized that the monitor was steadily increasing in rate. The nurse smiled at him comfortingly, moving to stand beside his bed opposite to the doctor.

“Can you blink once to answer yes, and twice to say no?” The doctor asked, adjusting the saline solution.

John blinked once slowly.

“Good, my name is Dr. Murray, this is Nurse Bailey.  You’re in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham. Currently, you are under a paralysis. When you were brought in to the field hospital you were seizing and had to be immobilized to prevent you from further injuring yourself. ” She paused, and waited until he blinked once. Relief that he wasn’t permanently paralyzed almost made him miss the rest of her sentence.

 “It was too risky to remove the paralyses without you conscious, so you were transported here. Now that you are awake it’s imperative that we start removing it. As we need to make sure you regain full motor control, we can’t give you much in terms of pain killers.” Again, she paused eyeing him sympathetically when he blinked once.

She smiled grimly, “As I’m sure you are aware, the only reason you are able to remain conscious at the moment is the paralyses. You’ve been under for well over a week.”

His breath hitched slightly, the implications finally coming to the forefront of his mind.

The longer the impulses remain interrupted the higher chance that the bodies natural flow of energy will begin to distort when it begins to pick up on the barriers interfering with the nerve impulses. 

“With your permission we’d like to start immediately.” He blinked again once, and Dr. Murray glanced at the nurse. The woman turned and disappeared behind the door without a word.

There was a moment of heavy, stifling silence.

“Dr. Watson, do you have something you want to return to?” The question struck him as odd, but her face was serious, lips set in a tense line.

So he thought for a moment. He had Harry, but immersed as she was in her drunken stupor and trying to save her failing relationship she probably didn’t care. Christ. Did she even know he’d been shot? The thought steered him in the direction to his men. Where they all right? How many were killed? Were they able to get to the base before sunset?

John halted the thoughts firmly. Worrying about it now wouldn’t help him, and he understood the necessity of being calm during a removal.

But…he probably wasn’t going to be allowed back into Afghanistan. What did he have to go back to?

A dingy flat, dreams he could never remember now coupled with night terrors? He closed his eyes.

Quick silver flashed in his mind and he let the fleeting image go just as quickly as it came. No. There was something more; he could feel it.

 Without another thought he finally turned to meet Dr. Murray’s steady gaze.

Her expression was steady, and confident “We’ll do our best to make the removal quick. You’ll be given a small dose of morphine to take the edge off.”

The nurse returned with two more nurses, carrying the packaged needle and the morphine. The nurses walked to the bed and placed his ankles and wrists in cuffs.

“Just a precaution.” Murray said when she saw the confused stare aimed at the cuffs. Muscle spasms, his brain supplied helpfully. They didn’t want him flailing in the bed like a fish while he endured some of the worst cramps in life.

She pressed the needle to the IV drip, slowly pushing the liquid out before dropping it into a nearby bin.

Gradually, a pleasant, warm haze started to cloud his mind. John barely registered when she asked if he was ready.

Sluggishly, he did something that resembled a blink. Dr. Murray nodded and removed the IV from his arm, swiping his arm with a cotton ball then pressing a clean one to the and wrapping it.

“Let’s begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because these are important themes in this world I’ll need to explain weavers, so here it goes. If you’re still confused about something just let me know.
> 
> Spool cuffs: Every person has a cuff or a necklace for most of their life that is hollow and filled with a type of thread that has the consistency of fishing line but is completely organic. The thread remains useable because it is constantly absorbing any excess energy that is constantly being give off by its host. The purpose of the thread is to be used in case of medical emergencies where it is necessary to seal a wound of some kind.
> 
> Energy: Is sort of like chi. The body needs it to survive, if a person loses all their energy they die. The reason doctors are called weavers is because the energy runs through the body like a spider web. Some people can manipulate their energy like weavers, tattoo artists etc... It can be learned but it’s very difficult and most don’t get passed being able to use it for simple spells. 
> 
> Rejection: When the body rejects a weaver’s 'bridge' because there was too much foreign energy.
> 
> Weavers: Doctors who can manipulate the energy inside the body. What they do depends on their level to recreate an energy pattern where the wound occurred, giving the body a type of bridge to use to start healing again. 
> 
> Weavers can also place “blocks” in the nerves. Because this energy has the same basis as the impulses in the nerves, the weavers can create tiny eddies of energy in nerve locations to prevent the impulses from getting though. 
> 
> Class C weavers are the ones who employ the use of the thread. They treat minor wounds by placing the thread on the wound and using it as an anchor to recreate the disrupted flow of energy. When the pattern is complete the weaver then releases the extra energy in the thread and fuses it to the injured site to increase the healing time. The injuries that they treat are generally flesh wounds and heal within three hours, and the thread is broken down by the body.
> 
> Class B weavers are paralyzers. They can make temporary blocks with the patient’s energy to stop pain and they can build temporary weaves at an injury site to prevent further damage. They will also have been trained to use spells in order to stem blood flow. They can do class C weaves, but since they usually deal with time dependent injuries they won’t have time to use thread which provides a more stable bridge.
> 
> Class A weavers are able to recreate the energy flow at a wound site without being dependent on the patient’s energy to do so. They can manipulate their own energy into serving as a model and they can redirect energy from other places in the body to the wounds. The can do everything that Class C and B do. They are also able to tap into the energy veins all over the earths crust instead of using their own. But energy veins are only tapped into when there are huge disasters because the body usually produces more than enough energy on it’s own.


	3. Penny for your thoughts?

The train ride was quiet. Shrubbery blurred by becoming indistinct as John stared out the window. Lichfield City disappearing into the distance as the train rumbled away.

_“Due to Bill’s spells there will be heavy scarring. You were fortunate that your body didn’t completely reject his magic.” John resisted the urge to let his hand come up to his shoulder._

_He was still weak and there was a lingering ache in his body from remaining under a paralysis for so long._

_“I’m being discharged.” The words were steady and toneless. There was no point in drawing the conversation longer than it had to be, and John didn't want to stay in a place that he used to derive so much pride and satisfaction and could no longer be a part of anymore.  
_

_“Yes.” A pause, “Dr. Watson I would like it if you’d continue therapy in London with one of my tribe weavers.” She pulled a drawer from the desk, papers rustling as she brushed them back._

_John shook his head, “I can’t afford that on an army pension. I’m lucky enough to have been treated by you.” His gaze wandering to the shiny gold plaque on her desk with the very telling engraving of a circle with a triangle inside._

_Narrowed eyes bore into her head with disbelief when a careless hand came up to wave off his sentence airily, “You’re not being charged.”_

_Keeping his incredulity in check he finally replied,” I appreciate the offer Dr. Murray but I don’t need charity.“ Having a psychosomatic limp was embarrassing on it’s own; he wasn’t going to rely on pity to get by._

_“Do not confuse gratitude with charity.” Came the curt reply._

_Hard sandy eyes turned to him, “My tribe is indebted to you. Bill Murray is my brother, and you saved him more times that I care to remember. Helping you recover your mobility is the least we can do.”_

_Right. His best mate who turned out to be the brother of the most renowned weaver in the world._

_His eyes drifted to the cane resting against the desk, and he eyed it thoughtfully. Dr. Murray interrupted his slightly violent musing with an amused cough._

_“Thank you. I’ll consider it.” John managed a half-hearted smile when she beamed at him._

_“Excellent!” Dr. Murray handed him the coin on a piece paper with an address scrawled on the back of a first class train ticket to London._

_She quickly cut of the anticipated protest to the train ticket, “Courtesy of the army. She’ll be expecting you sometime next week. When you arrive at the clinic show the coin to the clerk and the rest will be a breeze.”_

_John stared at the coin in his hand, cool and probably worth more than his life._

_“Right…well, thanks. For everything.” Dr. Murray lifted her hand, fingers curved towards him._

_She smiled warmly when he pocketed the coin and touched his fingers to hers, “Thank you for taking care of Bill.”_

The quiet was oddly uncomfortable after the constant buzz of activity in the hospital, and he shifted in the plush seat. The only other person in the first class section was sound asleep towards the back, legs propped up in the seat in front of him.

Tracing the triangle in the coin, John idly wondered why people didn’t just bring a seat cushion for their arse instead of wasting so much money.

And then, quite unexpectedly, something cool and slimy pressed against his ear. He stopped breathing for the two seconds it took to get his heart started again.

When he finally saw the perpetrator scuttle down his arm a slightly hysterical giggle left his mouth.

“Penny!” The spotted salamander didn’t pause in its descent, and John quickly moved its target out of reach.

Stretching from his cupped fingers the yellow mottled creature stared longingly at the coin.

“Where have you been all this time?” John said affectionately, and couldn’t resist when those pearly black eyes turned to him pleadingly.

Rolling his eyes, he lowered the coin back within reach. Penny nearly tumbled from his fingers in his haste to grab the coin, and John laughed for the first time in weeks.

With Penny safely caged in his fingers he turned in his seat, bringing his legs up to the empty seat and leaned against the window. The salamander wiggled out of his loose grip, coin in mouth, and dropped on to his chest.

Penny looked up at him expectantly, head tilted to the side to watch him. Lips twitching, John clasped his fingers together and rested his wrists above his heart. Penny scuttled over his arm and wriggled into the enclosed space John provided, black tail sticking out beneath his pinkies. He pressed his small body tightly against his chest, becoming still as the steady vibrations of John’s thudding heart lulled him.

With the salamander asleep, John didn’t have anything else to keep his thoughts from turning to the inevitable.

What was he going to do in London? No trauma center was going to take him with his useless leg and shaky hand.

Perhaps locum work. But his thoughts turned on the idea bitterly. No, not even them. It wouldn’t do to see a doctor hobble around a clinic.

No way around it then. He was going to have to see Ella.

John let his head drop to the side and with years of practice behind the skill, fell asleep.

-0-0-0-0-

John grumbled, glaring at the salamander waiting somewhat sheepishly on the headrest.

“You’re lucky that I brought a jacket. I might have been tempted to trade you in for a new shirt.” The threat was an empty one, and Penny knew it, rocking from side to side happily.

John scowled at the damaged shirt. He peeled the melted edges of the hole away from his skin, the melted polyester coming away from unblemished skin.

The shirt was ruined but he left it on anyway, it was better than nothing. He zipped up the jacket and held a hand out to Penny who quickly slithered beneath the cuff and up his arm to hide beneath the collar of his jacket.

The doors hissed open, noise tumbling in from the crowded station.

Hitching his bag to his shoulder he murmured quietly, “Welcome home, John.” And slipped into the crowd of people scrambling to get where they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Murray Tribe : An influential family in the medical world that have a long history of producing highly successful weavers. 
> 
> Penny: ;) More on him will be revealed later. I'll give you some virtual cookies if you can tell me what he is.
> 
> *Something that I forgot to mention in the last chapter is the markings that John mentioned on the doctor's face. It is custom for weavers, especially for the classes to have markings called rhindes. 
> 
> Rhinde's are markings that resemble tattoo's. They are made by using a clear liquid resin that comes from a tree called a Rhinde. Depending on the ability of the weaver the resin will be manipulated to create weaves on the users skin, absorbing the energy and taking on a color unique to the persons energy signature. Rhindes are usually used as a measure of a weavers skill, and each are unique to a weavers energy pattern. But because of the nature of the rhindes only weavers are allowed to have them. There are also laws which limit the complexity of the rhinde to the practicing class. This happened due to several instances where Class C weavers wore false rhindes that were generally used only by Class A weavers and malpractice issues arose. 
> 
> Not all weavers wear rhindes, although it's rare to find one who opts out of the practice.
> 
> Rhindes are somewhat controversial because of the possibility of job discrimination that it provides, but hasn't been challenged because of the long standing tradition of the practice.


End file.
